


Necessity

by SouthernContinentSkies



Series: Barrayar BDSM-verse [1]
Category: Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, D/s, Fluffier Than Expected, M/M, Orgasm Delay, Political Relationship, Praise Kink, Relationship Negotiation, Sort Of, Subspace, arguably dubcon relationship, but NO dubcon sex, only the completely consensual kind, though it's not Gregor's fault
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:42:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23241163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SouthernContinentSkies/pseuds/SouthernContinentSkies
Summary: Ivan's always done his best to avoid politics, but on Barrayar that's not always possible. When unfortunate circumstances materialize, Gregor's long-shot solution is unexpectedly attractive to them both.Chapter 1 is rated T for the sex-related relationship negotiation; all E-rated material occurs in Chapter 2.
Relationships: Gregor Vorbarra/Ivan Vorpatril
Series: Barrayar BDSM-verse [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1904902
Comments: 51
Kudos: 92





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Obedience.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/219766) by [Lanna Michaels (lannamichaels)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lannamichaels/pseuds/Lanna%20Michaels). 



> Takes place after (this timeline's version of) Brothers in Arms, but before Mirror Dance.
> 
> Loosely inspired by Lanna Michael’s BDSM AU fics (both Obedience and the relevant chapter(s?) of Things I'm Not Writing, or whatever the collection of unfinished snippets is called), including some of the phrasing of the personal oath, and the fundamental setup of dom/sub relationships on Barrayar as a same-sex parallel dimension to heterosexual marriage, rather than the hybrid or replacement model sometimes used in other fandoms.

The autumn evening shadows were making their way across Vorbarr Sultana as Ivan eased his lightflyer into its accustomed space in the garage. By the time he reached his apartment, they had engulfed the eighth-story windows opposite his front door. After grappling with his keys for longer than should have been necessary, Ivan let himself into his foyer, and took a minute to simply lean against the closed door and breathe. Dinner with his mother had been an ordeal, and with a lightflyer journey at the end of it, he hadn’t even been able to make his usual social escape into a bottle. Not that he could get properly drunk at a family dinner, in any case. That would just make everything worse.

He could remedy that situation now, however. He snagged the half-full bottle of mediocre red from the side table in the living room, and, after a moment’s thought, a glass. The evening hadn’t been _that_ bad. 

He dropped onto the couch and poured for himself, generously - the evening hadn’t been that good, either. He wished, not for the first time, that he could have a conversation with his mother without her expectations taking up their own seat at the table. Tonight, the topic had been marriage - when was it ever not - and, of course, grandchildren. Ivan was not interested in either, just at the moment, but there was no making Lady Alys Vorpatril hear such a thing through anything less than overt rudeness, and he wasn’t ready for that, either.

Ivan sighed. At least his mother wasn’t trying to hurry him into a collar like she was the wedding circle; that would be unbearable. Somewhat astonishingly, she never even brought it up. Ivan had been waiting for that shoe to drop at some point - perhaps as a variation on the theme of Commitment, An Adult Virtue - but at least to date, it never had. In his more cynical moments, he wondered whether his mother just didn’t want any competition in her bids to make Ivan’s social choices for him.

It wasn’t that he objected to the idea, in theory. A man entering a collar arrangement, in whichever applicable direction, was considered just as much an adult milestone as getting married: a signal that the participants were ready to stop messing around, like the callow youths they used to be, and get down to the business of navigating the complex power dynamics and hierarchies of adult Vor society. Unlike marriage, however, it wasn’t necessarily assumed to be permanent, and as a male-only institution, it of course carried no implications of children - which were a whole other layer of permanence in themselves. And, if you skipped right past the very delicate problem of finding the right person, the idea of having someone who would, to paraphrase the words of the personal oath, promise his honor, loyalty, and guidance in return for Ivan’s service, devotion, and obedience - and also occasionally bend him over a desk - was, if Ivan were honest with himself, actually very attractive.

So it wasn’t that Ivan didn’t _want_ a collar; it was just that actually _getting_ collared would be highly counterproductive to his general aim of avoiding politics and keeping a low profile. To avoid conflicts of interest, the military forbade collars outside one’s own chain of command, which meant that Ivan, who worked directly for the Head of Ops, had no option besides Admiral Desplains. Which - no. Ivan shuddered. He liked the Admiral as a boss, but he wasn’t anxious to expand their relationship.

Desplains was a bit too prole to be interested in the first place, anyway. Some prole officers seized the opportunity with both hands, as it were, claiming participation in the otherwise Vor-exclusive social dimension as a perk of their commissions, alongside Imperial leigeman status. On the other side, Desplains, and many others, eschewed it entirely as a degenerate Vor distraction - though of course they wouldn’t put it in those words out loud. Ivan, whose looks and family connections had made him a target for all sorts of propositions since the Academy, was grateful for the disinterest.

Outside the military, of course, those same family connections made every possibility stink of politics. He couldn’t take a collar from a Count without provoking a landslide of treason-adjacent gossip - not that he would want to anyway, their average age being over sixty - and most of their sons and close family members were out for the same reason. Further out from the epicenter of politics, most men interested in Ivan would likely be looking to make a social profit rather than a personal connection, and he was too busy chasing women - which was, overall, much easier - to try to screen out the leeches on the male side.

To be fair to his mother, she could certainly arrive at those conclusions herself. Perhaps she even agreed with him about the advisability of his dealing with politics, and simply wanted grandchildren enough to push marriage anyway. 

His mind had wandered long enough that he’d drained his glass. Lifting the bottle again to refill it, he noticed the message light blinking on his comconsole. He hadn’t bothered checking when he came in, as usually the only caller absolutely requiring a response was his mother. A message at this time of day was likely only a social invitation. Not urgent, probably, but a cancelled date had left Ivan with no plans for that weekend, and it was already Thursday. He might as well see whatever it was he’d been invited to.

He stood and took his wineglass with him to the console, taking a desultory sip as he accessed the message - and immediately choked in consternation, as instead of the pleasant face of Olga Vormurtos, the resulting image displayed a very serious-looking Gregor Vorbarra.

“Good evening, Ivan,” said the Emperor’s face from his comconsole. “Nothing’s wrong, exactly, but I do need to speak to you about something. It’s not an emergency, but it’s better discussed sooner rather than later. If you could come by the Residence tomorrow evening, at eight, that would be… most convenient.”

And that was it. Short, cryptic, and not remotely reassuring; Ivan would have known it was Gregor even from an unlabeled transcript. “Nothing's wrong, _exactly_?” What on earth did that mean? “Nothing’s wrong yet, but it’s about to be?” “Don’t panic, you’ll only make it worse for yourself?”

Ivan looked around his living room, as though some additional insight might be forthcoming from the drapes, or perhaps the carpet. None was. He would just have to go up to the Residence tomorrow evening to be surprised - and in the meantime, pass the intervening twenty-three hours in ignorance and trepidation.

“Fuck,” said Ivan, to no one in particular, and drained the rest of his glass.

* * *

The next evening, Ivan arrived at the Residence early, in dress greens and very shiny boots. He had no idea what was going on, but you couldn’t go wrong with a freshly-pressed formal uniform - at least, not on Barrayar.

The Residence majordomo who met him at the south entrance took him all the way through to Gregor’s private suite, where he handed Ivan off to an armsman. Ivan was minutely reassured by the venue; if Gregor were going to admonish him for something, he probably would have done it in his office. Not that Ivan had any idea what he could possibly have been admonished _for_ , but the trouble with not knowing was, of course, that you just didn’t know.

The armsman, who Ivan recognized but whose name eluded him, showed him into Gregor’s outer parlor. Ivan knew that Gregor had managed to redecorate some of his private rooms in a more modern style, but this one, as a more formal receiving room, was still decked out much like the rest of the Residence, in the style that Ivan privately thought of as Encrusted With Unwelcoming History. 

Inside, Gregor was waiting for him, sitting on one of the blue damask sofas. Unusually, he had no pad or flimsies with him. The Emperor’s time was both valuable and scarce, and Ivan was accustomed to seeing Gregor cram bits of briefing material and background reading into every spare temporal corner. Either he was uncommonly caught up at the moment, or he had wanted no distractions from this meeting. Ivan was not reassured; he wasn’t at all certain that the Emperor’s undivided attention was a good thing.

“Ivan,” the Emperor said, rising to greet him. “Thank you for coming. Sorry for the vagueness of the message; I didn’t want to discuss this over a comm.”

He paused, eyes flicking over Ivan’s dress greens in something Ivan thought might be disappointment.

“Apologies if I’m dressed inappropriately, Sire,” Ivan said, a tinge defensively. “You were very grim in your message, and I didn’t know what to expect.”

“No, of course,” said Gregor, rearranging his features into something more neutral. “It’s perfectly correct, Ivan, there’s nothing wrong with _you_.”

“Oh good,” said Ivan. “I mean, of course there’s nothing wrong with me. Not that I was worried about that, I know there’s nothing wrong with me. Whatever’s going on - not that I know for certain there is anything going on, yet - obviously it couldn’t possibly be my fault. As, again, just for the record, there’s nothing wrong with _me_.”

“Ivan.” Gregor seemed more pained than amused by his babbling. Ivan tried not to fidget - really, whatever this was, it _couldn’t_ possibly be his fault. 

“Um. Yes?”

Gregor looked at him for a long moment, brow furrowed, and then sighed. Ivan couldn’t take much more of this. Much better to just get it over with.

“Gregor, what on earth _is_ it?” he said, daring a bit of vehemence. “It can’t be m’mother, and I even had a message from Miles recently, but you’re looking like someone’s died. What’s happened?”

His cousin gave him a strange, melancholic look. “It’s not your mother,” he said, “or Miles, for once, and no one’s died. Yet. Thanks to ImpSec.”

“Uh,” said Ivan. “Well… good?”

“Sit down, Ivan,” said the Emperor. “We need to talk.”

They sat, not on the formal sofas, but in a pair of comfortable chairs bracketing a low table near the fire, which was built up against the chill of the Vorbarr Sultana autumn. The table contained a bottle of very good brandy, two glasses, and a shallow, square box. At Gregor’s nod, Ivan opened the bottle and poured for himself, drank first, and then poured for his Emperor. It was, as expected, delicious; deep, complex flavors, beginning with something like dried cherries and ending with a hint of spice he couldn’t quite identify, with a slow-building fire that warmed Ivan’s chest as he drank. 

Again, Ivan was not reassured. Gregor was notoriously abstemious, scorning the traditional Vor sport of recreational intoxication unless, as Ivan and very few others knew, he was absolutely desolate. Either this was very bad news indeed, or he thought Ivan would take it that way. Ivan, who trusted his Emperor’s judgement implicitly, resolved to fortify himself as much as possible.

“The thing is,” said Gregor, once Ivan had made an adequate dent in the first glass. “Simon, and Domestic Affairs, have been tracking some troubling developments.”

Gregor went on to describe a concerning number of plots, schemes, and assorted machinations detected by ImpSec in recent months. These apparently had varying degrees of thought, complexity, and resources behind them, but they all had three things in common: they were all being coordinated by someone as yet unknown to Imperial Security; the success of any one of them would notably decrease the stability of the Imperium; and they all depended for their success, in one way or another, on sowing political disaffection and discord around the person of one Lord Ivan Vorpatril. 

Lord Ivan Vorpatril, listening to all of this with an increasingly grey face, finished his first glass of brandy and, after a brief internal struggle between anxiety and propriety, poured himself a second.

“So, the way Simon sees it, and unfortunately I agree,” concluded Gregor, “until we can identify the source of all this, the only way to really get a handle on the situation is to remove you as a possibility entirely.”

“Um,” said Ivan in sudden alarm, contemplating the excellence of the brandy in a new and unwelcome light.

“Not like _that_ ,” said Gregor quickly, aghast. “You’re my cousin, Ivan, not some inconvenient asset.”

“Right,” said Ivan, resolutely ignoring the idea of “inconvenient assets.” “Er, ‘remove me’ how, then?”

His cousin took a fortifying drink of his own before replying. “The first option,” he said carefully, “is geographically. You could go out to some remote Barrayaran consulate at the other end of the Nexus as a military attache for a while. That far from the capital, you wouldn’t be a viable focus for anything until you’d returned. We’d recall you when we’d sorted out the whole mess. It might put a minor wrench in your career, or potentially a major one, depending on how long this all took, but you’d be safe. We don’t think whoever is behind all of this plotting wants to see you dead, at least.”

“Ok,” said Ivan. “That makes sense. How long do you think it would take?”

Gregor frowned. “It’s hard to say. But… years, Ivan, probably, given the persistence and complexity we appear to be dealing with. Two? Three? Less, if we’re all lucky - but more, if we’re not.”

“Hmm,” said Ivan. Two years on some backwater planet would probably be fine, depending on the planet. Even three might not be so bad. But -

“Gregor,” he said slowly. “What happens if ImpSec just... doesn’t figure it out?”

Gregor’s wince of pained sympathy was his answer.

Ivan let out a breath. “Well, so much for that one. What’s the other option?”

Another fortifying drink; the glass was nearly empty now. Ivan hadn’t seen Gregor drink this much outside of Winterfair.

“The other option,” said the Emperor, “is to have you stay in Vorbarr Sultana, but remove you politically, instead.”

Ivan waited, but no further explanation was forthcoming. Gregor seemed almost nervous, somehow.

“Er… how?” he ventured, into the pause. “It’s not like you can make salic descent even less valid.” A sudden, horrible thought struck him. “Gregor! You’re not going to throw me out of the Vor?”

Gregor choked on his brandy. “What?” he managed while coughing. “No! What even -? Ivan, apart from the political nastiness of such a thing, your mother would never forgive me. _No._ ” 

After a few more residual throat-clearings - brandy was nasty stuff in the sinuses, Ivan knew - his cousin collected himself, and regarded Ivan with renewed seriousness.

“Ivan, the whole point of this conversation is to give you options. I realize neither option is particularly good, but I want you- I _need_ you, to have a choice. Because -” Gregor cut himself off, cleared his throat again, and restarted, staring intently into Ivan’s eyes. Ivan felt ...not entirely clothed. It was uncomfortable, the way his cousin seemed to see into the very back of his head, but not entirely unpleasant.

“Because I don’t,” Gregor continued. “I don’t have any meaningful choice, except to be Emperor. And I always thought, at least one of us - other than Elena, I suppose - at least one of us could escape the orbit of our heritage, and just be _normal_. Ordinary. Eight to five at Ops, date your girlfriends, sleep in

your flat with one outer perimeter man on the roof, when it’s quiet, and two or three when it’s not. And it turns out that’s not possible for you now, and I’m _sorry_ , Ivan, truly.”

Ivan swallowed. The intensity of Gregor’s regard was hard enough to take without this accompanying emotional divulgence. He could get lost in those eyes, he thought, if they stayed locked on his long enough, drawing him out. He’d never really noticed that before - Gregor’s peculiar, quiet magnetism. He had assiduously avoided all possible opportunities to notice. He wasn’t sure, yet, whether he regretted the opportunity to notice it now.

“You said there were two options,” he choked out, as though the words could form a screen to block Gregor’s gaze. “You never got around to the second.”

Gregor’s eyes held his a moment more, then found their way briefly to the box on the table, before returning to the Emperor’s brandy glass. “Yes,” he said slowly. “The second option. And your choice. It is entirely your choice, Ivan, whether to do this, and what form it takes, if you do. If you find temporary exile preferable, I understand, and in fact I expected it - that’s why I offered that one first.”

“Maybe temporary,” said Ivan. “Maybe permanent, if ImpSec skips a beat. Whatever the other option is, it can’t be as terrible as all that, since you’ve already rejected assassination and devolution out of hand. I’ll take my chances.”

“You may not think so in a moment,” said Gregor, and reached out to open the box.

Ivan stared. The contents of the box glittered up at him in the firelight: simple, beautiful, dangerous. 

The Vorbarra collar - of course it was a collar box, he’d _seen_ boxes just like it before, it was only the obvious insanity of the idea that had had his mind skipping over the possibility this time - was an antique circle of velvet-lined silver, embossed with a twining rose and laurel pattern, and crowned at the front latch by the Vorbarra sigil picked out in diamonds and onyx, with an integrated lock. Despite the flowers and the jewels, it managed, mainly by the proportions and the color scheme, to be just this side of masculine.

“Oh,” Ivan managed, completely blindsided. “I… oh.”

Gregor, watching his face, was keeping his own carefully neutral.

“These plots are all designed, among other things, to create public doubt about the scope of your ambitions. If we can’t yet cut them off at the source, we can at least neutralize their effectiveness by refuting that premise. Taking my collar would certainly accomplish that,” he said, with an eminently controlled tone that matched his face. “But so would a distant attaché post. As I said, it’s your choice.”

Ivan tore his eyes away from the glittering noose and refocused on the Emperor. 

“What, exactly, would we - I mean, if we did - what exactly are you offering?” He stumbled over the words. 

“Nothing more than you’d prefer.” Gregor’s brow was pinched with worry. “I assumed that would be nothing at all, in this direction. I only mentioned it because I wanted to give you all the options at my disposal. I know you’ve always avoided the very whisper of a collar, and you’ve certainly avoided me. You can’t be pleased to be offered both in the same breath.”

“Gregor, I haven’t been avoiding _you_ ,” Ivan retorted, a bit stung. “I’ve just been avoiding, well, all this,” he gesticulated vaguely but expansively around them, “and you happen to come with it. It’s the politics I’m allergic to, not the family.”

“A bit inextricable, in my case,” said Gregor glumly.

“Well, yes. But if the politics are going to find me anyway, it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world to take the family along with it.” Ivan polished off his glass of brandy as fortification, and returned it to the table with a clunk.

Gregor’s head came up. “You can’t mean that,” he said, astonished - and, Ivan thought, dismayed. “It’s everything you’ve been running from all your life. The security, the public attention, the expectations - it’s everything you hate, in exchange for a relationship you don’t even want. Why would you volunteer for that? Are you sure?”

Ivan looked from the glittering noose in the box to the Emperor sitting behind it, worried. “You don’t sound too happy about the idea. Are _you_ sure?”

“I wouldn’t have offered if I weren’t,” Gregor said, and then waited.

After a moment, Ivan sighed. He recognized this tactic, from both Gregor and Uncle Aral - and of course, Gregor had likely learned it from Uncle Aral in the first place. Silence as a provocation; it might or might not work on obstreperous Counts, but it certainly worked on Ivan.

“Look, I meant what I said,” he said finally. “I haven’t looked for any of this, I have… sauntered purposefully, let’s say, in the opposite direction. But that was because I _could_. I wouldn’t have -” He broke off to gather his thoughts. “I’ve avoided taking on unnecessary responsibilities, yes, alright, but I wouldn’t have run away from a responsibility I already had. And now that I have this one,” he spread his hands, “I might as well make the best of it. And under the circumstances, the best of it is you.”

His gaze had wandered during this speech, mainly out of a desire to avoid any awkward or distracting eye contact. At his conclusion, he looked back to Gregor.

Unusually, it was Gregor who broke their eye contact first, dropping his gaze to the fire. “Of course, we don’t need to settle on any particular terms tonight,” he said slowly. “You’d have time to think about it. What you want, what you don’t want - particularly with regards to, well, intimacy.” 

Ivan didn’t share his cousin’s penchant for obtuse language, but he had no trouble following his meaning. A new and unwelcome thought occurred. “Gregor, would _you_ want us to… be intimate? Or is this just a hard choice for you, too? Because I don’t want to risk permanent exile, but I also don’t want to be a, a _burden_. That’s awful.”

Gregor was looking at him strangely. “You’re not a burden, Ivan,” he said at last. “Not at all. But it’s very important, it’s _vital_ , to me, that anything you do with me, or for me, is by your free consent, on the understanding that you can always refuse. If this relationship is to be politically useful, then we will, of course, have to observe the appropriate forms in public. But our private relationship is our own business, and if you choose this route we can, and will, negotiate whatever terms you like. Including celibacy.”

It was Ivan’s turn to direct his own strange look at Gregor. “If you think I’d jump at celibacy, you must not have been paying very much attention,” he said, as drily as he dared. “I like sex, thanks. It’s practically my hobby. I’m not going to suddenly turn into some facsimile of a virginal Vor maiden just because there’s a collar involved.”

“And a man,” said Gregor seriously. “I’m only familiar with the general outline of your history, Ivan, but all your prior exploits have been with women. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

Ivan made a face. “I like women. It doesn’t mean I’m opposed to men. But any man I took up with would either be interested in a collar, which I wasn’t; or look to other people like they were interested in a collar, which I wanted even less; and if I could manage to avoid the suggestion of any collar at all, it would look like I was scandalously uninterested in women, and then how would I get any dates?”

Ivan thought for a moment that Gregor might smile at that, though he didn’t see what was funny. But then something less humorous seemed to occur to him.

“Ivan, if you don’t want a collar -“

“I don’t want _politics,_ ” said Ivan firmly, hoping to squash this entire line of questioning. He’d said yes once already, how often did Gregor need to hear it? “If I’m involved in politics anyway, I don’t have any problem with it.”

“Alright,” said Gregor softly - or uncertainly? Surely not. “As long as you understand, I don’t want to force you into anything. At all.”

Ivan regarded his cousin. The fire was playing off the planes of his face in the dim light, now the sun had set, and glinting off the drops of brandy left in his glass. It was a nice face, Ivan thought, even when it was actively glum; when, as now, it was merely pessimistic, it was really quite attractive, if you liked the brooding type. Ivan had never gone for that before, but he had wide-ranging preferences. And when Gregor smiled -

Ivan made a choice. “You don’t need to tell me you won’t force me. I know that already; I trust you. And I’m sure we can come to some mutually satisfactory arrangement regarding, uh, _intimacy_.” He refrained from making air quotes, in deference to the gravity of the situation. His mother would be proud. “Um, on that subject - I’m not displacing someone else, am I? It doesn’t really change my answer, but a jilted lover on the sidelines just makes everything more complicated.”

Gregor sighed. “Ivan, if you think _you_ can’t have sex for the politics… at least you can take a woman to bed without putting a wrench in a Council vote.”

Ivan, processing the implications, stared in horror. “Gregor! You mean you haven’t been getting laid at _all?_ My god! We have to have sex immediately!”

Gregor, for some reason, actually burst out laughing. Ivan didn’t see what was funny. Laughing at years of enforced celibacy was rather like laughing at a kick in the balls; people did it, but only rude and mean-spirited people, and not when it was _them._ Gregor must have a very different relationship with sex, somehow. Ivan couldn’t fathom it.

“Ivan,” Gregor managed, on the heels of his last chuckle. “Let’s start with dinner.”

* * *

Shaking his head, Ivan followed Gregor further into the suite. They ended up in a small sitting room, very different than the larger parlor they’d started out in. Clearly one of Gregor’s personal rooms, it was decorated in a clean, modern style, with muted colors on the walls and bright, angular art pieces scattered around for contrast. A small dining table, already set for two, stood near the tall window that opened to the garden.

“I had hoped you’d stay for dinner regardless,” offered Gregor, noticing Ivan eyeing this last. “As a farewell send-off, I assumed.”

Ivan decided not to venture further comment on his cousin’s bizarrely deficient self-esteem. Hopefully lots of therapeutic future sex would sort out that problem by itself, without the need for troublesome emotional conversation. Ivan was only good at one of those.

They sat, and a touch to Gregor’s lapel pin brought in a series of servants with roasted vegetables, crusty bread, and vat-beef stew - exactly the sort of comfortable home cooking the Emperor couldn’t get away with in public - and water. Though he would have appreciated a glass of Gregor’s excellent wine, Ivan was nonetheless reassured by this return to form.

“I still can’t believe you haven’t been doing _anything_ ,” Ivan said after the servants had gone, unable to help himself. “I mean, that’s terrible! You’re only thirty-two! And you’re the Emperor, for god’s sake, surely -”

“That’s precisely the problem, Ivan,” Gregor cut in. “The list of people I could proposition without it being inherently coercive is really quite small, as is the list of people who wouldn’t immediately try to use it for their own ends in some way. It’s either an ethical problem, or a security risk.”

Ivan contemplated this in silence for a moment, while they both ate. He wasn’t sure the ethical problem was as difficult as all that. He could probably name at least a dozen people who would jump at the chance to sleep with the Emperor if he expressed an interest; surely Gregor could ask around, discreetly, to discover who they were before he expressed it. But maybe all those people were security risks somehow. Gregor certainly knew more about that than he did.

“I did once have an affair with a prole lieutenant,” Gregor added, suddenly. Ivan choked on his stew.

“What?” he managed, after a moment. “How do you square a _prole lieutenant_ with your ethical scruples? Which I do think are overblown, just by the way. How did you even meet? Was he on your staff? Or was this when you were on active duty?”

Gregor frowned. “Of course not. He was Admiral Naumov’s secretary, when Fleet Logistics kept coming in for meetings about that Tau Ceti routing issue. And he approached me, to begin with. I certainly would never have said anything. But he offered, and, well.” He shrugged.

“I can’t believe ImpSec let you sleep with a random prole lieutenant,” said Ivan, still croggled. “How do you know he wasn’t some sort of, of, honeypot?”

Gregor would never do something so crass as roll his eyes at Ivan, but Ivan got the distinct impression that he wanted to. “ImpSec doesn’t get veto power over my sex life, Ivan,” he said, with some asperity. “And as for the security issue, of course he wasn’t a ‘honeypot,’ wherever you dredged up _that_ word. Simon checked.”

“Oh, well,” said Ivan, kicking himself. “Of course he did. That’s alright then. I hope he was at least good looking.” He couldn’t decide whether the image of Gregor being propositioned by some visiting Admiral’s prole secretary was upsetting, or arousing. Probably Aunt Cordelia would have some very Betan thoughts about the psychological implications of his indecision. Hopefully, he would never have occasion to find out what they were.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but yes, he was.” Gregor’s asperity melted into thoughtfulness. “It was just a few months, until he was transferred to the _General Vorlakial_ as Logistics Officer. I was never really sure whether he was interested in me, or just the Emperor, but it was… nice, anyway, while it lasted.”

“He, um, might not have thought there was a difference,” said Ivan, who also generally thought of Gregor, his cousin, and the Emperor as one all-encompassing person. “Most people don’t mark that much of a distinction between the different aspects of themselves; it’s just all them.”

“Hmm,” said Gregor. “But ‘the Emperor’ means a lot of different things to different people, most of which have nothing to do with me at all. Attraction to an idealized fiction isn’t a great basis for a relationship, of any kind.”

“Well, to me, ‘the Emperor’ just means you,” said Ivan. “And I like you just fine, even when you’re dripping pronouns and sarcasm at me.”

“Thanks, Ivan,” said Gregor, seeming touched despite himself. “Though I don’t think I do either of those things very often.”

“It’s not often,” said Ivan, “but it’s memorable.”

The meal continued, the conversation passing in a combination of more mundane topics and companionable silence. Ivan felt the surreal disorientation of their earlier discussion receding in the wake of this more familiar company, and the simple but excellent food. He might well go right back to crogglement when confronted with the collar box again, but for now, everything was fine.

Ivan polished off the last of his stew, and looked up to see Gregor regarding him searchingly over his own empty plate. He fought the urge to look behind him.

“I’ve been thinking,” Gregor said. 

Ivan tried not to look worried. 

“If you’re at all serious about trying to manage a real collar relationship under the circumstances,” Gregor continued, “I thought we might, ah, take the opportunity to try it out, first. Tonight, if you’d like.”

Ivan’s eyebrows shot up. “You mean, have sex?”

“We don’t have to,” Gregor hurried to reassure him. “We can go as slow as you -”

“Gregor!” Ivan interrupted him. He was starting to get just a bit exasperated with Gregor’s ethical wheel-spinning. “What about me, and my personal history, suggests to you that, given the choice, I prefer to go _slow_?”

Gregor frowned slightly. “We just had this conversation. It’s different when -”

“Yes, we did,” said Ivan firmly, interrupting again. “And I’d really like to not have it again every time we get close to a bedroom. How many times do I have to tell you that I’m interested, that I _trust you_ , before you believe me? I’m all for making sure everyone’s on board with everything, but at this point I’m frankly starting to get annoyed by your apparent failure to _listen_.”

Gregor blinked. “It’s - given our family history, Ivan - I could have you imprisoned with a word, does that really not bother you?”

Ivan abandoned all his mother’s rules of etiquette to roll his eyes at his cousin. “You could also pick up that knife by your plate and stab me with it. Are you going to do _that?_ ”

“Of course not, but -”

“Then stop inventing problems where none exist! My aversion to Imperial politics has nothing to do with _you._ ”

They looked at each other across the table.

“Alright, Ivan,” Gregor acceded. “Alright. But I need you to promise me that if I suggest something you don’t want, or do something you don’t like, you’ll tell me.”

“Of course,” Ivan agreed easily. “It’s sex, Gregor, it doesn’t have to be complicated.”

Gregor regarded him with faint amusement, as though either Gregor had honestly never thought of this before, or Ivan was being hopelessly naive. 

“Alright then,” Gregor said, again, and stood. “Shall we?”

He gestured to a doorway that Ivan assumed led through to his bedroom. Ivan stood with alacrity, and followed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They have sex. And then they talk about it. Ivan is much more comfortable with the first part.

If Ivan had thought that deciding to commence the action would, well, commence some action, he was soon reminded that this was Gregor, who never did anything without consulting five different experts and possibly communing with some esoteric spirit of wisdom into the bargain.

Gregor did take Ivan through to the bedroom, which was promising - but he kept all of his clothes on, and all of Ivan’s, and instead drew Ivan into a kiss so gentle and _delicate_ that Ivan had flashbacks to his third date with a very nervous and proper Lady Agape Vorraptis, when they were both all of eighteen.

Of course, Gregor’s light touch clearly had more to do with deliberate choice than virginal hesitation. Even so, Ivan’s shoulders were tense from holding back his desire to fidget. 

“You don’t need to be so - whatever this is,” he said finally, pulling back enough to speak. “I’m not going to break.”

But Gregor shook his head. “I don’t want to be rough with you, Ivan,” he said, cupping the side of Ivan’s face with his hand. “I want to take care of you, because you deserve care.” He cocked his head, and his gaze heated just a fraction. “Specifically, though, I’d like to watch you touch yourself until you’re desperate, and then use your thighs to get myself off. Is that alright?”

Ivan blinked, blindsided. He’d never considered that “matter of fact” and “strangely hot” might belong in the same sentence, but here he was. It must be Gregor’s voice, he thought. Gregor was always calm; it was a constant of the Imperium at this point, or at least Ivan’s piece of it. His composure was contagious; despite everything, Ivan began to calm himself, as well, replacing his earlier anxiety with excitement of a different type.

“Ivan?” Gregor prompted, in the same even, inquiring tone. “Is that alright? We can do something else, if any of that makes you nervous.” He was still cradling Ivan’s face, clearly requiring an answer - but unhurried, and not pressing for any particular result.

“No, that’s good,” said Ivan quickly. “I’m not nervous, uh, anymore.”

Gregor smiled slightly. “Good. Do you think you can strip for me? No need to make a performance out of it, unless you’d like to. I’ll enjoy it regardless.”

“Um, sure,” said Ivan, a hint of nervousness creeping back in despite himself. “Are you… going to watch?”

“Yes.” Gregor settled back against the bed, getting as comfortable as he could while still standing. “Whatever you do will be good enough, Ivan, don’t worry about that,” he added gently. “It’s you I want to see, whatever that is.”

And didn’t that just elevate a mechanical task all the way to the concerningly metaphorical. Ivan was glad he’d worn his uniform, now; at this point he could take it off properly in his sleep, and nearly had done several times. He started with the belt of the tunic, unthreading it from the belt loops and coiling it onto the dresser opposite the bed. The rest of his uniform followed, in the usual fashion. Ivan didn’t have the wherewithal to try anything elaborate or seductive. But nothing in Gregor’s posture, or his careful observing gaze, indicated disappointment.

“Lovely, Ivan,” said Gregor gently, when he’d finished. “Can I touch you?”

“Please,” said Ivan, before he could stop himself. He felt vulnerable suddenly, like he’d taken his skin off with his clothes, and he wanted the connection. Gregor hadn’t gone far, but now that he was naked, it felt like any distance was too much.

Gregor pushed off from the bed and stepped towards him, reaching his hand out to cup Ivan’s cheek. He ran his thumb over Ivan’s cheekbone for a moment, before stepping closer and pressing a short, firm kiss to his lips.

Ivan leaned into the caress for a moment, eyes almost drifting closed, before some of his self-consciousness returned.

“Can I..?” he ventured, gesturing to Gregor’s still-present clothes.

“Would you like to?” Again, Gregor’s voice gave away nothing of his own preference. Ivan was finding it profoundly frustrating.

“I don’t _care_ ,” he said before he could stop himself. “I just want to do what you want!”

“I can see that,” said Gregor, still reserved, “and it’s very endearing, Ivan, but you do have preferences, and if we’re going to do this properly, I’ll need to learn what they are, instead of bulldozing them with my own. Although,” he added in a slightly different tone, holding Ivan’s gaze, “if you’re that interested in behaving for me - you can consider my direction to be patient and take what I give you.”

Ivan’s lips parted, and he drew in a quick breath. The very idea of a direct order, especially from Gregor, shot right down his spine to his cock. “Yes, sir,” he managed.

Gregor merely smiled at him, and leaned in to claim another kiss.

“Good,” he said. “Don’t worry, Ivan, I’ll give you what you want. Eventually.”

“Eventually” took some time. Gregor arranged Ivan on the edge of the bed and undressed himself, in the end, his eyes still fixed on Ivan. Ivan watched, regretting his earlier lack of preference. He wanted to be touching Gregor, he realized, or at least in his space. Voyeurism was a very poor substitute for contact, as far as Ivan was concerned. He tried to suppress his impatience; he suspected any visible fidgeting would only make Gregor slow down. 

At last, all of Gregor’s clothes had joined Ivan’s on the dresser, and Gregor approached the bed again, coming to stand between Ivan’s legs. He ran both hands into Ivan’s hair, close to his skull, and drew him in for a kiss. 

Ivan leaned into it. “Can I touch you?” he asked, as soon as Gregor drew back.

“Oh, yes,” said Gregor, with a small smile. “But scoot back a bit.”

Ivan did so, and Gregor followed him onto the bed, pushing him down onto his back and stretching out beside him. Eager for the contact, Ivan turned towards him, running his hands over Gregor’s chest and shoulders. Gregor pulled him close enough to kiss, and rolled them over so that Ivan was on his back again. One hand cupped Ivan’s face as Gregor kissed him, and their legs tangled together on the duvet. 

It still wasn’t quite enough for Ivan. He arched upwards, pressing his body up against Gregor’s, and rolling his hips up into the now-hard line of Gregor’s cock.

This, finally, caused a reaction from Gregor that was seemingly involuntary. Gregor broke off the kiss to draw a breath that was not quite a gasp, and reached a hand down to hold Ivan’s hips in place, and away from his.

“Not yet,” he said, and rolled off of Ivan, moving up the bed and gesturing to Ivan to follow.

When they finished rearranging themselves, Gregor was sitting with his back against the tall headboard, with Ivan sitting between his legs, back to chest. It was a bit of a snug fit, but Gregor’s inch or so of extra height meant he could still drape himself over Ivan pretty well, if Ivan slouched a bit. Ivan, mindful of Gregor’s earlier objections, refrained from writhing back against him to increase the contact.

“Now,” Gregor said, his voice lower than usual and rumbling straight into Ivan’s ear. “Touch yourself for me, Ivan, please.”

“How?”

“However you like best,” said Gregor. “Like I said before, it’s you I want to watch.” He paused. “Do you think you can keep from coming til I say?”

Ivan bit back a groan at the image, and the implication. “I’m not sure. I’ve never tried.”

Gregor hummed in contemplation. “Alright. Just do your best. We’ll work up to it. Let me know when you get close.”

Ivan sucked in a breath and reached a hand out to wrap around his cock. He was hard already, and he wasn’t sure how successful he was going to be at drawing this out into the show Gregor seemed to want. He started slowly, the first few strokes making him breathe harder than he would have liked. Doing this in front of Gregor, _for_ Gregor, was absolutely nothing like doing it by himself. There was an entire extra layer of arousal pouring over him, emanating from Gregor’s watching eyes. He shut his own after a few minutes, and then immediately opened them again, as the darkness amplified his other senses in a way that threatened to be overwhelming.

“Beautiful, Ivan,” Gregor said behind him, into his ear. “Look at you, pleasuring yourself for me.” He had one hand on Ivan’s hip, and the other wound into Ivan’s hair, alternating between stroking and pulling very slightly. “Just perfect.”

Ivan’s breath hitched, and he felt his face heat. In a bit of a daze, he reached his other hand up to tweak a nipple, the sensation combining with Gregor’s hands to go straight to his cock. He groaned, trying desperately to both hang on and keep moving. His body seemed reduced to a live wire, strung between his head, his chest, and his hips, and for long moments he could do nothing but go on as he had started, drowning in sensation and helpless to do anything else, even to stop.

“So good for me, Ivan,” Gregor murmured, smoothing the hand from Ivan’s hip upwards along his side. “Keep going, just like that. You’re doing so well.”

Gregor’s words hit something odd inside Ivan, and he blinked suddenly. After a moment, he realized there were tears in his eyes. How strange; he wasn’t sad. On the other hand, he couldn’t have said how he _was_ feeling; words seemed somehow out of reach, at the moment. They had slipped out of his mind, crowded out by the sensations of his hand on his cock, the solid presence of Gregor’s chest against his back, and the sound of Gregor’s voice in his ear. The only words he had were Gregor’s: “keep going.” He could do that. There was something else he was supposed to do, he dimly remembered, but it was swept away by the heat building between his legs.

“I… Gregor-” he breathed.

Gregor’s lips found his ear, turning a whisper into a caress. “Come for me, Ivan.”

He did, instantly and hard, crying out and lolling his head back to rest exhaustedly on Gregor’s shoulder. He fought against closing his eyes, and failed. He drifted slightly; not into sleep, but into a sort of cloud of comfortable mental static, his thoughts as far away now as his words. He could hear Gregor murmuring something soothing behind him, and felt Gregor’s arms come up to hold him in place. The one thought left to him was that he’d never been so relaxed.

He opened his eyes again a few minutes later, on the heels of the awareness that Gregor had stopped talking. He supposed they were cuddling, after a fashion; Gregor’s arms were around him and his chin was on Ivan’s shoulder. Ivan felt like he should be offering to move, but he was so bonelessly contented he couldn’t bring himself to do anything. Or say anything; his words were still floating just outside his reach. He could probably grab them if he sat up, but… but. On the other hand, he could feel Gregor’s erection pressing against his back, and he definitely wanted to do something about that. He settled for an inquiring noise.

Gregor kissed the side of his neck in response. “Back with us a bit, Ivan?”

“Mmm,” Ivan managed, and felt Gregor’s lips curve against his skin.

“Good,” Gregor said. “Do you remember what I said at the beginning?”

Ivan furrowed his brow, and made a somewhat disgruntled noise of denial.

Gregor huffed a small laugh into his ear. “That’s alright,” he said. “I’ll remind you.”

Ivan felt Gregor shifting behind him, and tried to shift with him. He couldn’t get a good handle on where Gregor was going, though, and after a minute he gave up and let Gregor move him himself. He ended up on his stomach, and contentedly burrowed into the pillows, keeping one ear open to Gregor’s movements behind him. He seemed to be leaning over Ivan, and rummaging through the bedside table’s drawer.

When Ivan moved to spread his legs, however, Gregor pushed them back together. 

“Not this time,” he said, from above Ivan’s head. “Just like this, for now. That’s it.”

A moment later, Ivan felt something slick and cool dripping into the cleft of his thighs. Oh, yes, that did ring some sort of bell - but just at the moment, he was content to float along with whatever Gregor had planned.

Gregor draped his body over Ivan’s, his chest against his back, his arms bracketing Ivan’s, increasing the contact between them as much as possible as he thrust slowly in between Ivan’s thighs. At first, he rested his head next to Ivan’s, breathing into his ear, but as he went on, he braced himself up on his elbows, and began dropping kisses over the backs of Ivan’s shoulders and whispering what sounded like endearments almost under his breath.

Ivan, for his part, sank into the mattress and enjoyed the sensations. The feeling of being pressed between Gregor’s body and the soft sheets was more comforting than claustrophobic, and Gregor’s half-intelligible vocalizations formed a lullaby that sent him more to satisfaction than to sleep. He caught only a few snippets - “lovely,” “so good” - before Gregor’s rhythm sped up, and the words dissolved into gasps. Ivan felt a surge of warmth between his thighs, and Gregor collapsed on top of Ivan, panting slightly into his ear.

The angle was awkward, but Ivan twisted his head around, looking for a kiss. Gregor’s lips found his, briefly, before he burrowed his forehead into Ivan’s shoulder, catching the last of his breath.

Ivan was almost ready to drift off, when Gregor suddenly shifted behind him, moving away and appearing to leave the bed altogether. He made a noise of protest, but Gregor was back in a moment, pushing Ivan’s legs apart slightly and wiping between them with a cloth.

“I know,” he said, in response to Ivan’s disgruntlement, “but you’d regret it in the morning if I let you fall asleep in this. There.”

Ivan felt a movement, and heard a distant sound, that suggested Gregor had thrown the cloth off somewhere rather carelessly, and then Gregor was nestling down into the blankets next to him, an arm and a leg thrown over him in a gratifyingly close embrace.

Thus reassured, Ivan finally gave in to the boneless contentment that had suffused him since his orgasm, and let himself be carried off to sleep.

* * *

That contentment was still lingering in Ivan’s spine when he woke up the next morning. He blinked lazily, snuggling further into the sheets. Gregor’s bed was insanely comfortable, and despite the minor twinge of surreality he still felt at the concept of “Gregor’s bed,” much less actually being in it, he found he had absolutely no desire to get up. He felt strangely calm, still, as though the capacious stacks of pillows could block out all the worries and consequences that lay outside the bedroom.

It helped, perhaps, that Gregor wasn’t actually there at the moment. Ivan brought his wrist up to check his chrono - 0804. He’d slept later than he’d thought; was Gregor already at his morning security briefing? Ivan briefly felt a bit miffed at being abandoned in favor of a meeting, but then the management of the Imperium didn’t stop just because it was the weekend. That would be another thing he’d have to get used to, he supposed. Gregor had always put duty before pleasure, and he wasn’t likely to stop now. Although, when he did put his mind to pleasure… Ivan’s eyes drifted closed again, the better to flick through the memory.

Last night had been like no sex Ivan had ever had before. The acts themselves weren’t much different - he’d had lovers who wanted to keep him on edge, and even a few who had discovered the joys of a Betan artificial cock - but there had been an entire psychological dimension that had been completely absent in his previous flings. It wasn’t the gender difference, Ivan was fairly certain. It was just - those flings had been casual, on both sides, designed to be mutually enjoyable and nothing more. Whatever had happened last night hadn’t been _casual_ at all, trial run or not. Ivan remembered Gregor’s quiet, serious words of praise, caressing him as surely as his hands in Ivan’s hair, and he shivered. 

Just as he was seriously considering whether to more directly involve his cock in the proceedings, the door opened. Ivan snatched his hand upwards to grab at the sheet instead, but it was only Gregor, entering by himself and closing the door behind him.

Ivan sat up, running a hand through his no doubt very rumpled hair. “Hi,” he said, trying for nonchalance and failing utterly.

“Good morning, Ivan.” Gregor leaned against the bedpost, smiling down at Ivan softly. “Did you sleep well?”

Ivan sucked in a breath. Gregor’s fond expression was a near-twin to the one he’d worn last night, and cock’s involvement was no longer quite so hypothetical. “Yeah,” he managed. “It’s a very comfortable bed.”

“Good.” Gregor’s eyes moved over him, collecting data. “And how are you feeling otherwise? I was sorry to leave you earlier, but Simon needed a word, and you looked so comfortable it seemed a shame to wake you.”

“I just woke up a few minutes ago,” said Ivan. “It’s, um - you know, you’re really far away.”

Gregor’s smile deepened, and he sat down on the bed, close enough to touch. “Better?”

Ivan wriggled closer, slipping his arm around Gregor’s back and resting his head on Gregor’s shoulder. In return, Gregor brought his hand up to rest on Ivan’s hair, stroking it gently. They sat like that for a moment.

“I suppose I have to get up now,” said Ivan, regretfully.

“Well, you don’t _have_ to, actually,” said Gregor. “But I did think you might like some breakfast.”

“You haven’t eaten yet?” Ivan asked, surprised. He realized he actually had no idea how early the Emperor usually started his mornings. For all he knew, it was normally plain groats and water at five, though he certainly hoped not.

Gregor shook his head. “I was about to. Join me?”

When Gregor put it like that, Ivan didn’t have it in him to decline, however soft the sheets.

* * *

They ate in the same sitting room as the previous night. In daylight, the sun from the garden played off the smooth surfaces of the furniture, and leant a homey warmth to the room. Ivan could almost forget he was in the middle of the Residence.

“So,” Gregor began, once the servants had left again. “You seemed to enjoy yourself last night. How do you feel now that you’ve slept on it? Anything you’d object to? Or change?”

Ivan shifted in his seat. He’d never liked this sort of postmortem, but under the circumstances, he supposed it was necessary. “It was good,” he said finally. “Also, uncomfortable, but not really in a bad way.”

“Mm,” said Gregor. “Physically, or emotionally?”

Ivan made a face. “Emotionally. Physically was all good.” He thought about it. “Still is, in fact. I certainly slept well. We can do that part any time, as far as I’m concerned.”

Gregor smiled at him, with just a tinge of the sort of satisfaction Ivan had only ever seen in him last night. “Good,” he said. “And the emotional?”

Ivan hesitated. “The compliments were… hard. Good, but intense. I, uh, wasn’t really prepared for that.”

Gregor regarded him steadily. “You know they were all genuine, I hope.”

“Yeah, I know. Or, well, I figured. You wouldn’t pretend with me like that.” 

Gregor was still looking at him, his hazel eyes shifting unusually green in the reflected sunlight from the garden. 

Ivan looked away from him briefly, in sheer psychic self-defense, before glancing back at him, sidelong. “It’s hard to look at you sometimes, you know. You look at me like you can see the back of my head.”

“I’d like to,” said Gregor, in an uncharacteristic burst of candor. “But never so much that it hurts.”

“Why?” Ivan was genuinely curious. “There’s not that much to see, really. I’m hardly the most interesting person you know.”

It was Gregor’s turn to hesitate. “There aren’t that many people I can _touch_ in my daily life, Ivan, even metaphorically,” he said. “The ability to be close to someone, and to hold that person close to me, and to have that be _safe_ , is a luxury. And knowing someone is a form of intimacy, ultimately.” His gaze sharpened. “And you sell yourself short, Ivan. Constantly. And I know why you do it - or at least, I know the practical reasons - but I still don’t appreciate anyone disparaging one of my few close friends. Even if it’s the man himself.”

Ivan blinked, and swallowed past the unexpected knot in his throat.

“But, anyway, thank you for telling me, Ivan,” Gregor continued, before Ivan could feel obligated to speak. “I know verbalizing all of this isn’t exactly comfortable for you, but it is necessary.” He flashed a small smile at Ivan as he turned back to his plate. “I can’t actually read your mind, after all, and I do need to know what’s too much.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to do it again,” said Ivan, digging back into his groats with an internal sigh of relief. “It’s just a lot. It felt like I was more than naked, somehow. With you it’s fine, but I wouldn’t want to be that vulnerable in public, or anything.”

Gregor paused, his fork halfway to his mouth. Having paid more attention to Ivan’s mother than Ivan had himself, he replaced it on his plate before speaking. “But, you might be comfortable doing other things, in public?”

Ivan shrugged. Most of the baseline aspects of public collar dynamic - following your dominant’s direction, not contradicting him in front of others, being some level of deferential - weren’t too different from how he and Gregor intereacted in public anyway, given Gregor’s position. Unless Gregor wanted a more formalized protocol, it wouldn’t be a big change. 

As for any overt submissive or sexual aspect, “public” wasn’t really the right word for it; you couldn’t do anything explicit in front of women or children, after all. It was usually either exhibitionism in male-only social settings - he’d seen some things at officers’ bars - or, in a more professional setting, showing off to make a point. And the idea of Gregor putting him on his knees in a Council meeting, for either pleasure or politics, was much more arousing than Ivan would have thought. He felt his face heat.

And then he remembered that Uncle Aral would be at that hypothetical meeting, as Prime Minister, and the heat on his face took on a decidedly different character. _Yeuch_. So much for that fantasy.

“All right, Ivan?” Gregor had paused his eating again, and was watching him from across the table with some amusement. The progression of Ivan’s thoughts must have shown on his face.

“Oh, sure,” Ivan said. “At first, I was thinking about blowing you in a Council meeting - much hotter than I would have thought, as an image - until I remembered that Uncle Aral would be there. So.”

Gregor’s facial expressions went through a subtler version of Ivan’s, and he cleared his throat in sympathetic distaste. “Yes, well, I can assure you that I have absolutely no desire to do anything remotely sexual in front of Aral. And now that I’ve been forced to contemplate the idea, I’m very glad that you agree.”

“Great,” said Ivan drily. “So glad we’ve had this chat.”

They finished their breakfast in relative silence, allowing any lingering discomposure to be replaced by the sensory delights of bacon and really good coffee.

“So,” said Gregor, sitting back in his chair, “I think we’ve demonstrated that this might actually work, at least as far as I’m concerned. How do you feel, Ivan? Given what you know, and what you’ve seen, would you take my collar in fact, as well as in form?”

“Yes,” Ivan said, and then made a slight face. “I mean, some of the implications are sort of terrifying, but I want to do it anyway. I trust you.”

Gregor’s face took on an oddly soft expression. “Thank you, Ivan. That means a lot to me.”

They sat in silence for a moment, until Ivan, uncomfortable again with the level of ambient emotion, cleared his throat.

“Right,” he said. “Should we do this here, or...?”

Gregor shook his head, and rose. “The front parlor again, I think. Something so important deserves a certain level of formality.”

Ivan nodded, not trusting himself to speak, and followed him out.

* * *

The collar box was right where they had left it the previous night, on the table in front of the fire. The fire itself had clearly been tended, as had the rest of the room, and the unbanked flames reflected off the gleaming wood of the furniture in the weak autumn daylight.

Gregor went to the table and opened it, leaving the lid up, but not yet removing the collar inside. 

Ivan trailed after him, feeling self-conscious again. He wasn’t about to change his mind, but the closer he got to the actual moment of commitment, the more intimidating it seemed. He had been having enough trouble conceptualizing just putting the collar on in the first place, and what it would mean for his relationship with Gregor. Now that they were actually here, the thought had occurred to him that at some point, he would be leaving the confines of Gregor’s private suite while wearing it. Meaning, it would be visible to other people, including his mother. Obviously, having a visible relationship was the entire point of this exercise, but his mind still recoiled from that particular idea. He’d just have to deal with that later.

Gregor gave him a searching look as he approached. “Alright, Ivan?”

“Yeah,” Ivan said. “Just thinking about how I don’t want to think about telling my mother.”

Gregor’s face went slightly queasy. “Right,” he said. “Let’s just deal with that later.”

Ivan nodded his vigorous agreement.

Gregor lifted the collar out of the box and set it to one side, and then fished the set of duplicate keys out after it. The collar had been stored unlocked, and Gregor took his time testing it; unfastening, refastening, locking, and unlocking it, until he could be sure neither the age nor the upkeep of the mechanism would be a problem. 

As the primary beneficiary of this conscientiousness, Ivan theoretically appreciated it, but the delay wasn’t doing anything good for his nerves.

At last, Gregor appeared to be satisfied, and replaced the collar, unlocked, on top of the now closed collar box. He looked up at Ivan, the studious focus in his eyes giving way to something warmer.

“Are you ready?” he asked softly.

Ivan took a deep breath, and let it out again. “Yes.”

“Then kneel for me, Ivan Xav Vorpatril,” Gregor said, in the opening words of the formal exchange. They had no witnesses, and needed none, for this, but the formality of the oath had its own presence, filling the room with an aura of expectant gravitas.

Ivan took a step forward and went to his knees, and felt his mind going down as well, getting sharper and softer at the same time. Gregor was in focus; everything else was not. It was a strange feeling - though more familiar after last night - but not unpleasant. He held up his right hand, and Gregor took it in his. The differences in form - both knees instead of one, one hand instead of two, all titles and Imperial honors omitted - marked this exchange as a personal oath, no threat nor challenge to the feudal obligations of the Imperium, and thereby avoided triggering any of the deep-seated Barrayaran sensibilities that one of Dorca’s last remaining descendants might have in his blood or bones on this point.

“I, Ivan Xav Vorpatril,” Ivan began, “do pledge my personal service, devotion, and obedience to to you, Gregor Anatol Vorbarra, and will wear your collar as a witness to this oath, for so long as we both shall desire. This by my word as Vorpatril.”

“I, Gregor Anatol Vorbarra,” returned Gregor, holding Ivan’s gaze as well as his hand, “do accept your oath, and I pledge in return my personal honor, loyalty, and guidance, and I offer you my collar as a witness to this oath, for so long as we both shall desire. This by my word as Vorbarra.”

The words snapped tight around them, but they weren’t finished yet. Ivan held his breath as Gregor turned back to the table to retrieve the Vorbarra collar. It looked less intimidating than it had yesterday, Ivan thought. The sinuous twists of the rose and laurel stems were joyful dancers rather than coiling snakes this morning, and the diamonds and onyx caught the sunlight very differently than they had the firelight the night before.

Gregor appeared to be holding his breath as well, as he placed the collar around Ivan’s neck with admirably steady hands. The snick of the latch was overly loud in the silence, competing only with the gentle snap of the fire behind them. The velvet crushed softly into Ivan’s skin as Gregor turned one of the small, matching keys in the lock, and then straightened up again, slipping the key ring securely into an inner pocket.

They both let out their breath at the same time, staring into each other’s eyes, not knowing quite what to say under the weight of the moment.

Gregor, typically, recovered first. He cupped Ivan’s face between his hands, and bent down to press a kiss to his forehead. Seeing Ivan’s still tranquil demeanor, he didn’t try to help him up just yet. Instead, he sank into the nearest armchair, and drew Ivan the short distance over to him to rest his head on his knee.

Ivan went willingly, if a bit slowly. He felt entirely at peace, and perhaps even a bit vacant; as though all his cares and responsibilities had been locked away with the turn of that ornate silver key. That was mere escapist fiction, of course. A collar wasn’t a marriage; he was still legally responsible for everything he had been ten minutes ago, including avoiding dangerous politics and accusations of treason. But now he had Gregor’s personal oath of support, and while that wasn’t technically the same as the Emperor’s oath, it still meant a great deal, both in general and to him.

He knew reality, and politics, would intrude in short order, but for now he just wanted to drift here, secure on the tether of Gregor’s hands. Wearing the Emperor’s collar was going to be seventeen different kinds of challenging, but he trusted Gregor to get them both through it. And if Gregor really felt he could handle it, eventually Ivan might start trusting himself as well.

After a moment, however, Gregor put a hand on his shoulder.

“Ivan,” he said gently. “Can you come up a bit, please?”

Ivan opened his eyes, and sighed. “I don’t really want to go anywhere, just at the moment.” But he took Gregor’s offered hand and rose from his knees, following Gregor’s direction to resettle himself on his lap instead. It was a bit awkward, given Ivan’s height and the size of the armchair, but they managed it.

Gregor ran a sympathetic hand down his back, once he was situated. “I know. Ideally we could just take this back to bed. But some of these arrangements can’t wait, and unfortunately they aren’t the only thing I need to do today.” He sighed regretfully. “First - do you want to move into the Residence? Or would you prefer to stay in your flat? It would make the security arrangements more complicated, but I’m fairly certain it’s doable, in that building.” 

It was a real question. Men with wives and families almost never cohabitated, but as both he and Gregor were still single, it would be socially unremarkable, and certainly more convenient. Ivan thought about it. On the one hand, he liked his apartment, and he didn’t really want to jump into the fishbowl of surveillance and protocol that encompassed the Residence. On the other hand, moving out didn’t necessarily mean he had to get rid of the place entirely, and as for the fishbowl - as of a few minutes ago, he was already swimming in it.

Then, too, there was the issue of logistics. Gregor’s days were usually scheduled to the minute, with very little opportunity for extraneous socializing, except at the expense of something else. What time he took for himself was usually in the evenings. If Ivan went back to his flat every night, or even most nights, it would seriously constrain the time they had together. He thought about the vast, formal hallways of the Residence, filled with servants and bureaucrats but no one else, and Gregor’s almost melancholy line about not being able to touch anyone, and his brow furrowed in sympathy.

“I’ll move in,” he said, decisively. “I’d like to keep my apartment, though, at least for now.”

“Of course,” said Gregor. “Whatever you like. Simon can send someone to upgrade the security net.”

After a moment, Ivan broke the silence with another thought. “Can I keep my job at Ops? Or is that going to be too… inconvenient?” He sighed. “It is what it is, I suppose, but I really do like my career.”

Gregor looked at him. “As far as I’m concerned, you can - but it’s not really up to me.”

Ivan must have made some face of indignation, because Gregor’s mouth quirked upwards in muted amusement.

“I don’t micromanage the military, Ivan,” he said. “It’s not good for morale, and in your case, not good for your career, at least to date. And I wouldn’t know what to do anyway,” he added in a mutter, which Ivan pretended not to hear.

“At any rate,” Gregor continued, “the person whose opinion really matters here is Admiral Desplains. I know he likes your work,” - Ivan preened a bit, despite himself - “but he may not, under the circumstances, want to look like he’s giving you orders.” Gregor fixed Ivan with a meaningful look.

Ivan’s shoulders sagged. Of course. More damn politics. If Desplains kept him around as an aide now, it would look as if he were trying to collect him, show him off. There were people who already thought so when he was just the Emperor’s cousin - it would be blown out of all proportion now that he was also the Emperor’s submissive.

“Ivan.” Gregor’s hand under his chin dragged him away from the incipient self-pity, and tilted his face up til he was looking Gregor in the eye.

“It’ll be alright, Ivan,” said Gregor gently. “Desplains’ office might not be a good fit for you anymore, but if he doesn’t want you, Ops will find you something else. You have too much experience to stick in a cupboard, and an aide’s position like that isn’t meant to be permanent anyway. I’m sure someone has already thought of where to put you next.”

“Any superior officer would have the same problem,” said Ivan glumly.

“Well, maybe they’ll have to find you an office of your own.”

Ivan stared at him in horror. “Gregor! The last thing I want is a _promotion!_ ”

Gregor almost smirked. “I told you, Ivan - I don’t micromanage the military. They’ll just have to find a place for you that works, and if that means bumping you up to Major sooner than usual, I’m certainly not going to say anything about it.”

“Well,” Ivan said, raising his eyebrows in resignation, “if that’s the sacrifice I have to make to make this work, then I guess it’s worth it.”

Gregor stared at him. To Ivan’s surprise, he suddenly looked almost choked up. “Ivan,” he said softly, and cleared his throat. “We will make it work. For both of us.”

“Yeah,” Ivan said. “I know we will.”

It would certainly be difficult, but as Gregor raised a steady hand to draw him in for yet another kiss, Ivan found he had no more doubts at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have the workings of a few possible related one-shots, but for now, this is it.

**Author's Note:**

> Please excuse the deus ex machina set-up, which absolutely will not be heard from again unless I get the ungodly urge to turn this into longfic.


End file.
